1   1 comment

Words Leave

Words leave
like years
lifting into nowhere,
and I reach up
to grab them,
to touch memories
of childhood,
or last year,
but like air,
nothing’s there.

Some days words
do swim about
in my head,
but with the lead
of my pencil
they won’t fall
onto paper,
end up crouching
into corners,
as if dead.

Could it be,
as one told me,
that hanging all my paintings,
hosting all those cousins,
and holding my
new lover in my arms
could have poured
me full of happy,

to the point where words,
those dancing little darlings,
shed their ballet-slippers,
tiptoed to the shadows,
folded arms about them
for a rest?

Come, words!
I’ll play some music,
a little silver CD
of soft lilting piano,
or spicy, rowdy jazz;
I’ll spin the disk
till dots of notes
tap your head like rain,
wake you from your quiet dream,

whirl you once again into
chorus lines of rhythm,
that spill onto the dance floor
of my poems.

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Posted September 3, 2011 by perettipoems in POEMS & ART COPYRIGHTED, Writing

One response to “1

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  1. Beautiful poem…

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